


Tooth and Claw

by CorpseBrigadier



Category: Gabriel Knight (Video Games)
Genre: Extra Treat, Fights, Gratuitous Wagner Lyrics, Interactive Fiction, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Sympathetic Injuries, Werewolves
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-21
Updated: 2020-02-21
Packaged: 2021-02-28 01:33:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,230
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22695592
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CorpseBrigadier/pseuds/CorpseBrigadier
Summary: A little while before the eve of Wagner's last opera, Von Glower pays a visit to Rittersberg. Interactive fiction.
Relationships: Gabriel Knight/Friedrich von Glower
Comments: 8
Kudos: 8
Collections: Chocolate Box - Round 5





	1. Link to Game

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Jehane](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jehane/gifts).



> I was incredibly thrilled to see a request for this pairing and to see somebody open to receiving a CYOA format. Although I was not able to rig together an appropriate inventory-based game where one is continually abducting pigeons and bludgeoning opera singers, I felt some IF was in the spirit of the original canon. 
> 
> (...also, one route is porn)
> 
> Hope you enjoy!

The game is playable [here](https://anonymouscreator.itch.io/tooth-and-claw) at itch.io. The password necessary to access it if I haven't made the game public is "BLACKWOLF."


	2. Proofing Copy of Game Code

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Below is a copy of the game's proofing code. It is not a particularly scintillating read, but it functions to both establish word count and to allow one to look through the various game routes all at once.

Tooth and Claw  
All the bright colors of the sunlit world have faded down to grey, and there is no difference now between the vision of beasts and of men. You are a little ways beyond your estates. The vale in which you walk smells of dry leaves and damp earth.

You shiver, and feel the trembling throb of a pulse that lurks under your own. As the stars come into view, it does not surprise you that you should be seized with a sudden and impulsive longing to run and roll in the grass and air.

The moon is waxing gibbous.

[[Continue.]]

You manage to leave your vehicle some ways out of sight and quietly walk the long winding path up the mountain. It becomes clear that there are but a few lights from the high towers, but someone waits by the gate. You can smell them. Even in the shape of a man, some residue of the beast always remains.

You approach slowly, realizing that despite all the benefits of arriving in such an unthreatening (and unnaked) guise, you will need to explain why you have come to Rittersberg in the middle of the night.

As your shoes clack on the gravel, you hear the hallo of a man calling out to you--evidently a caretaker of some sort.

[[Claim you are a petitioner]] [[Claim you are a tourist]] [[Assemble a moustache out of cat's hair and honey...]]

You keep to the shadows as you pace through the brush that lines the castle walls, breathing heavy and hot as you scent out the traces of all the human bodies that have been here before.

Rittersberg was never built to be a fortress, but it is evident that you cannot walk in as you are and that you will face serious problems should you approach as a naked man. You walk as quietly as you can along the perimeter of the town. The rhythm of Gabriel's body thrums through you as you pass by the eastern tower; he is restless with the hot throb of a fever, and there is a wild cadence to his heartbeat.

It matches the course of your own.

[[Attempt to scale the wall.]] [[Look for some other entrance.]]

You suppose that it is, after all, a Ritter you seek. You decide to be brazen.

"I come seeking the Schattenjager," you say matter-of-factly as you approach the gate.

The man, dressed in a light parka and cap, looks at you a moment. He seems skeptical.

"For what reason have you come, Herr..."

"Wilhelm," you reply, not hesitating as you concoct a pseudonym and a cause. "I'm afraid I can only explain my business to the Schattenjager himself."

The caretaker's eyes narrow, but he nods as though he understands. You sense a quick flutter of his heart, as though something has made him nervous.

"Just a moment, Herr Wilhelm. If you wait here I will see what I can do for you."

[[Wait.]]

You do not recognize the man, and he does not recognize you. This is good. Gabriel evidently hasn't been able to communicate to everyone a precise picture as to what you look like.

You smile when he approaches, and ask in as clumsy and unpoised a fashion as you can manage (a difficult task) as to whether or not this is Rittersberg. You nod and smile excitedly when he confirms what should be evident from the sign some miles up the road.

You explain as seriously as you are able that you are a member of the Historical Society for the Preservation of Churches in Lower Bavaria, and that you have come because you wanted to see the chapel at Rittersberg.

You've heard some reports that it has very atypical iconography.

He smiles and tells you that the chapel, of course, isn't open at this hour, but that you should be able to find accommodations at the local inn--that Herr Huber is often up late these nights anyhow.

You do not tense at the name. You smile cordially and proceed into the town proper.

[[Proceed to Rittersberg.]]

You can leap to a height impossible for most animals your size, and you are of greater size than any other wolf that walks within the Bavarian woods. Still, you can only leap, not fly. The erratic coursing of your blood pounds in your brain as you throw yourself against the wall, scrambling with claws that catch and tear at the English ivy overcovering it. 

Eventually, you give way to the instinct to change--to become something that can climb with human limbs and human hands. You make it three quarters up the wall before your fingers start to give way under the strain of pulling you upright. You do not fall, however, until you hear a shout go up.

You feel the reverberation of him awaken as you hit the ground on four legs and run.

**THE END**

You do not like remembering the last time you were in Rittersberg, but as you run upwards and back along the northern edge of the hill, moments come back to you. Even as Gabriel breathes somewhere within your veins, you feel the press of your mother's hand and smell again the scent of smoke--of charred wood and the underlying odor of burning fat. The moonlight catches on a pale outcropping of rock as you remember whispered conversations to the effect that there were many paths out of the town.

The scent of men dwindles, and the fire in your veins settles into an even throb. When you find it--an old oaken door cut through with rot and rust, you know that nobody has used it for a long time.

You press your muzzle close against it. It does not take much prodding for it to fall apart.

[[Enter.]]

You remember this place. You remember that there was more than one opening upon the cell--a tiny barred window through which a boy might peek inside and see if it contained who and what he thought it might.

You slink back down the alley, your body remembering the trace of pathways that have not changed for over two centuries. By the time you reach the back of the building which houses the gaol, there is a sense of unreality to the scene, as though the world has been stretched apart between your recollections of the past and the omnipresent sense of the man tethering you to the present.

You reach the window. It is much as you recall it, although the trim and glass have been replaced and many generations of pennycress have overgrown one another along the wall.

You catch his scent, and you rush forward, not caring for the pain or the noise.

"Jesus fuck!"

You tumble into the room in a shower of shattering glass and moonlight. Your eyes flash as you look to where he's jumped back from the palette upon which he rested.

[[Approach.|Approach (Wolf)]]

The door is padlocked, and it doesn't look as though it will be as yielding as the door before it. Even a werewolf's jaws are no match for a bar of wrought iron, but you try.

When that fails, you throw yourself against the door. Your proximity to Gabriel has made you rash. While you suppress the urge to howl, the frenzy that infects your blood demands _some_ action. 

You hear the splinter of wood and the creak of breaking hinges. Shortly thereafter, you hear a shout. The door to the inn nearby creaks open.

_"Der Werwolf!"_

You run back through the winding road north just as you hear the click of a gun cocking. They do not fire, and fast as thought, you find yourself racing through the mountains and back into the belly of nature.  
"Gabriel, please listen..."

"Listen!?" He throws his hands in the air, pacing. "I'm locked in this goddamn cell all day waiting to turn into a _fucking animal_ because of you, and you want me to _listen_!?"

You smile. It is always a pleasure to be calm in the face of somebody so incensed.

"So you are not yet an animal? Detta told me otherwise."

His face flushes red. He pauses a moment. "Didn't you write in your damn letter that _I_ was supposed to go see you in Munich if I wanted in on this whole werewolf bullshit?" 

"I told you that I'd stay away _for the time_. I told you you might feel differently in two months."

He draws close to you, his face near to yours as he continues to shout. You feel his breath against your skin.

"Feel differently! You're goddamn right I feel differently! I've--"

"You've been locked in a cage for two months, Gabriel." Your tone is calm as you put a hand to his face. "You should step outside."

You look at him intensely, eyes boring into his, the rush of his fever against your palm.

_"The night is very warm."_

He closes his eyes and breathes deeply, pausing a long moment as if he would crane his head just a few inches closer to yours. Eventually, he pushes you away, and staggering back, he reaches for the charm that lies against his chest.

You leave before he can brandish it, walking out of the Rathaus disheartened but not defeated.

He did not call out. He did not try to kill you.

You shake a little as you leave the village, trying to tell yourself that soon there will be other nights and other opportunities.

 **THE END**  
"Gabriel..."

You look at him, eyes bright and cutting. You realize that even his name is a waste of words.

Calmly, you glide forward, catching his wrist as he attempts to grab at you. In your grip, his skin burns like a brand. As you wrench his face to your own, you remember how once you remarked that Siegfried had to pass through a ring of fire to discover those secrets men think they are born knowing.

Gabriel tenses a moment, as if to struggle, and then you feel the bite of his fingernails on your neck and the dint of his teeth against your lower lip. You press your body against his, and there is the faint pressure of the flat circle of gold that lies beneath his shirt. 

You do not wince to feel it near you. You keep kissing him. You are hungry, and you know that his hunger is the same. The course of blood and heat that runs through you both reaches a pitch and rhythm that seems wholly in concert.

_Sehrendes Sehnen zehrt meine Sinne..._

His hand tangles in your hair; he responds to the feel of your teeth and tongue. You push it from your mind that you are in the cell where your father once waited to die, and you firmly run your hand along his side, pulling his shirt up as you do.

Suddenly, he pulls away, and there is a stillness between you.

[[Kiss him again.|Bittersweet Ending]]

You have just run for hours to see a man with every reason to hate you. You have smashed your head through the glass window of the cell where your father awaited death. Why not engage in one more idiocy for the evening? You charge forward, obscuring the light from the window with your great black body as you rush towards him.

He shouts, and you feel the burn of the talisman against your skin a moment as you snap at his outstretched arm, catching it such that you're both caught in the same jolt of sympathetic pain. You release him quickly, stumbling back on your own injured leg as you howl.

He drops his knife. Your blood pounds through you like a hammer as you realize that the sounds he makes in his own pain are no more human than yours

He sinks to his knees and you stand aside as he is revealed to you, suddenly as animal as yourself.

You senses are ablaze as he lunges and the two of you tumble into the dust and bricks.

[[Fight.]]

You keep approaching, deliberate and unwavering as he brandishes a blade in your direction.

Klingmann once asked you to imagine a language of death. Why would you need to imagine? Every pace, every glance, every motion you make communicates what you need him to know. You have not come to kill him.

He takes a step backwards and does not strike. He lets you approach and does not strike. As you pull close, head not quite upright and not quite bowed, you feel the rush of his heart and blood change tempo. He looks at you.

And then he darts the knife into the air, nearly catching you as you step back. You growl reflexively.

"What do you want, Frederich?" he growls back. "I'm not gonna come with you."

You stop, staring at him, and you feel whatever connection lies between you shudder and warp. It's as though the absurd bauble in his palm casts a barrier between you where the distance of so many kilometers could not. You feel your muzzle angle downward.

_"Will you kill me then, Gabriel?"_

The clouds flutter over the moon, and you realize he does not understand you. You imagine, as you slink away, what a comical figure you must cut: bleeding and ragged as you stumble out of the cell you just broke into.

**THE END**

You push him off of you, injured forepaw throbbing in pain as you do so. He snarls as you bite at his face, scrabbling about as you are both progressively bloodied through your actions. 

You feel all his wounds even as you make them, and you are surprised that no better instinct bids you draw back. There is still a sublimity in this ugliness, though, you think. There is something like a romance to this ending.

He whimpers, choking and shocked, when you finally catch his throat. You can feel him breathe--ragged and warm against you--when you descend together to the dark.

**THE END**

You fall back, tail coiled as you stretch your neck taut. He might tear it out now if it pleases him to do so. 

He does not.

You wait, and death does not come for you.

You look to him, and you do not think this to be some trite realization about his own monstrosity: " _wer mit Ungeheuern kämpft_ " and all that rubbish. If he truly was moved by considerations of good and evil in this moment, would he not destroy you? You, the architect of all the evil he has sought out.

He backs away, limping, and allows you to right yourself. Something flickers over the moon, and you both stand apart, both still.

When the cloud cover finishes gliding past, you are two men, naked and awake to one another.

[[Embrace him.|Porn Ending]]

You reach for him, and he looks at you, trembling. You suddenly feel the suffocating weight of the room the two of you inhabit. This is not the green grey vales of the alps; it is not some hill athwart the churchyard at Recoleta or the winter garden at the Residenz Palace. 

This is a sepulchre.

Gabriel looks at you, some admixture of desire still mingling with his disgust. You want to go to him, but you are too lost in human sentiment to move in this moment. Something more brutish and terrible than your own animality looks around you and sees how ugly everything is.

As you watch that look of longing fade from him, you realize that you have been the greater fool for your mad whim to drive into Bavaria tonight. Smiling, you give him a respectful nod.

"I suppose I ought give you some more time, Gabriel. My offer of Munich still stands."

You turn around, fists balled as you feel a shudder that runs through you both. You tell yourself that if he calls out, if he asks you to stay, you will go back. Even if it is in some outburst of petty anger--you will go back.

You feel some residue of him in your veins when you are once more under the stars. He has chosen the gaol in which he stands.

 **THE END** The air is very warm, but he's shivering all the same. When he speaks, the anger has drained somewhat from his voice. "What the actual fuck, Friedrich?" You walk over and grasp him close, the heat of your body seeping into his as you pull him into a violent kiss. The wound on your arm throbs as you feel him bite your lower lip, his teeth still sharp enough to draw blood. He tenses a moment as if he's about to pull back, to push you away and make some self-righteous American speech full of accusations and expletives. He decides instead to pull you closer: nails in your skin, arms slick with blood. Your bodies press together, and it becomes evident that his desire matches your own. He gasps when you begin to trail further kisses down his neck, nipping the flesh as you move down his body. "Jesus Christ..." You hear both conflict and resignation in his voice as you begin to push him back, deftly grabbing the blanket from off the wretched palette and casting it on the floor. He allows you to lean him down onto it, his breath hitching a little as you straddle him. 

[[Take him.]]

You feel a great sympathy with Gabriel... but there are some ways in which you will always differ.

[[Try something else.|Arrive (Man)]]

You pace around in the cool spring air, thinking that you may well have made a grave mistake, but hoping that Gabriel will see reason when you have a chance to speak to him directly.

It is fifteen long minutes when you see the caretaker return, two young women following close behind him--one dark-haired, one blonde. You recall mentions of a "Grace" from your prior conversations, and you suspect that neither of them will be kindly disposed to your visit, considering the circumstances.

You decide that it would be prudent now to leave, and you duck back into the darkness.

**THE END**

The sally port is far enough removed from the village proper that you do not attract anyone's attention in opening it. You pad softly down some alley, catching traces of Gabriel at every turn. You do not hear anyone else about at this hour. You know if anyone should see you, however, that you will not be taken for a dog.

When you reach the village square, the aching sympathy that connects you to Gabriel flares into a perfect agony. It is always this way at the beginning, and yet you always forget.

Your head swims as you slink along one of the plaza's walls, and you suddenly realize where it is to which you're walking. A arched gothic door lies at the top of a small series of steps.

You move, shadowlike, to the cell where the last black wolf was kept.

[[Look around for a window.|Enter through the window. (Wolf)]] [[Try to open the door.|Enter through the door. (Wolf)]]

The streets of Rittersberg are silent, and save for the few lighted windows mentioned before, they are dark. You tense as you feel Gabriel nearby, his heart pounding as the Curse burns into the fibers of his body. You wonder if he feels the pull of the moon tonight, although she is not yet at the apex of her power.

You breathe deep as you walk into the village square, and your eyes turn to the small, padlocked door beside what appears to be a post office. 

It has clearly been repainted many times in the past two and a half centuries, but you remember its shape and its surroundings very well.

How could you forget it?

[[Try to open the door by force.]] [[Try to pick the lock.]]

You are stronger than most men, but there are limits to that strength, and besides, you cannot make much headway muscling open the door--at least not without considerable noise. You try instead to apply tension to the padlock, hoping the chain that holds it isn't particularly well made. 

You watch as one of the links begins to stretch and warp, and while the process is not noiseless, it is silent enough for your purposes. As you crack open the door just enough to accommodate your body, you can feel Gabriel start into wakefulness, and for the first time... you can hear him close to you.

You walk into the gaol, eyes closed. The scent of stone and mildew is immediately familiar.

[[Approach.]]

You fumble around in your pockets, wondering for a moment if you're going to be taken by some absurd impulse to scour the village for a paperclip. You manage to find your own car keys, a wallet, and an only moderately expensive pen which you disassemble in the hopes of doing something with the clip. 

Feeling very foolish, you attempt to rake the padlock with it, but as a man better accustomed to wards than to tumblers, it goes poorly. You imagine Gabriel would have better luck with this sort of thing.

By the time you finally discard the pen clip in frustration, some time has passed. You tense as you hear the clack of footsteps on cobblestones, and you quietly draw towards the inn as if this was your destination that whole time.

You pause as if to enter, and turning, you catch sight of a young, dark-haired woman approaching. Her mouth opens in surprise as she sees you, and you wonder a moment if the two of you have met before. 

She edges quietly towards the door of the gaol as you look at her, and something quickens in your blood.

You leave the village thereafter. There will be no means, you think, of seeing him tonight.

**THE END**

You make your way through the hall, trying to move fast enough that you do not have time to think about where you are. When you finally reach the dungeon door, you close your eyes a moment. 

You knew they would put him here--of course they must. It is a place to put wolves.

When you open the door and see the moonlight pooling onto the grey stone walls, you think for a instant that he might not awaken. That like that evening with Detta, the two of you just might be able to maintain your respective courses--just barely touching.

You want to do more than touch though.

You approach, and as you lay a hand on him, he springs to full wakefulness, hot and full of the fever the Curse brings with it. In that moment of contact, you can feel the rush of his blood and heartbeat swell around you, and you ache to lie close to its pulse.

"Von Glower!? What the fuck are you doing here?"

[[Explain yourself.]] [[Kiss him.]]

You walk towards him, the outline of his shape burning a hole into your vision.

"What the goddamn fuck!?" he shouts, "Von Glower!?"

You keep moving--pace steady. His body stiffens, and you see him reach for the talisman that hangs around his neck. 

He pulls it free and pushes it words you.

"Get back, okay!?" his voice quavers slightly with the fever. "I don't have fucking time for this."

The disk of metal he waves in front of you cuts a path through your senses: a gap in what you can smell and feel. As the pads of your feet sink a little into the mouldering dirt floor, you feel the cold trembling itch that one has when standing in the presence of a flame.

He stumbles a little as he wraps the chain around his fist. You stand there, curious and unmoving as he reaches about him for a knife.

"Get back, ya hear! We can end this whole goddamn thing now if we have to."

Even though you know the penalty--even though you know this is all his blustering fear--there is something that incenses you that he should presume to threaten you.

Somewhere, the clouds shift, letting the full light of the moon fall clear on you both.

[[Attack him.]] [[Keep Approaching.|Explain.]]

You feel the nip of claws glancing your skin, of teeth that seek out your throat. It is glorious. With each pass the two of you make, you delight that he does not hesitate--does not balk. The two of you are moving in the same sphere: two animals at the altar of tooth and claw.

He drags his leg as you do own, but you think nothing in this dance any the less graceful for it. You do your best to calm the wild and impossible impulse to take him in your jaws--to suffer in that lovedeath that would annihilate you both.

_Soll ich atmen..._

He charges at you in a fury. You take a second too long in retreating.

_Soll ich lauschen?_

He catches you under his paws, and you both crash to the ground.

_Soll ich schlürfen, untertauchen?_

You look up at him, and see his teeth drawn as if he would devour you.

[[Refuse to yield.]] [[Bare your throat.]]

"Is this how it was with your boy Gar, then? You know, before you had me deal with--"

You take his cock in hand, taut and inflamed as the rest of him, and his objections are stifled by a low moan as you begin to stroke him. It was not this way with Gar. It was not this way with any of them. One splendor of nature, you tell yourself, is its infinite capacity for variation.

"You still have much to learn, Gabriel," you say in a low whispered voice as you bring your cock against his own, adjusting such that you can both rut into your fist. "...you are not Von Zell."

He pants, and you lap at his lips, wet as they are with the blood he took from you. You feel his hands on you once more, moving tremblingly downward to the small of your back to push you closer against him. He arcs his neck, trying not to look at you. 

"I can't fucking... _believe_ I'm doing this." 

You set on him as if to devour the throat he now bares to you. You imagine you can feel him--feel you--as you are brought together, white hot with all the agonies of the Gift.

White hot as though you were both in the heart of the pyre.

[[Fuck him.]]

You have the barest consideration anything more than the animal immediacy of the act, and you are all raw nerve and sensation as you briefly separate such that you can push your fingers--slick with your mingled blood--inside of him. He moans, lets slip a few more "Jesuses" and "fucks," but he does not object. You feel barely conscious of anything aside from the motions of bodies and heat as you press into him desperately, as if caught in the thralldom of beasts in rut.

He seems forever on the precipice of crying out as you fuck him, his moans dissolving into desperate, breathy gasps. You do not care. You do not care if he screams bloody murder and the entire damn village comes to watch you. You are drunk with the scent of his sweat and the feel of the flame that runs through both of you. You plunge your whole length into him again and again in long thrusts, frenzied and desperate.

"God..." he groans. "God... why didn't I kill you?"

"Because of this," you say, your voice a ragged whisper as you punctuate the statement with another thrust. "Because of this."

[[Finish.|End.]]

You continue to fuck him, the two of you struggling against one another with all the same vigor as before. You climax amidst the searing heat of his body, savoring in silence that strange instant of drawn out nothing.

You come down from it, hands pressed hard against his thighs, and look at his face as you finish him off, watching his features slacken as he spends himself into your hand.

Gabriel looks at you, flustered and hateful, and you think of any number of amusing or withering things you might say. He seems ruffled enough by the encounter without them, however. You wait for him to speak.

"This doesn't change anything, you know?" he says, looking away from you to where his clothing and talisman lie discarded.

You raise an eyebrow. His heart still pounds very fast.

"I never expected it would, Gabriel," you say after a moment.

You smile, wondering a moment how you will find your way back into the forests and away from Rittersberg--wondering if he will find some way to take this all as a dream. You reach down to take his face in your hand.

"Why would I possibly want you changed?"

**THE END**

You've ever heard it was written in any hunter's journal, and it's certainly not in the pages of Baring-Gould and his ilk. The Gift binds those who share it by many means. As the fever shudders through you-- _his_ fever--you wonder what he would think to know how deep this sympathy ran. 

You close your eyes and imagine yourself in his body--trembling hot against your clothing, always tense as you feel the silent press of four walls around you. 

It has been some days longer than the two moons you allotted him. ("You will need me then, and I think you will want me") You look to the west and the swell of the hills that stretch out from your estates into the north.

It is a foolish thing to consider, particularly given the invitation that made its way into your hands. Nevertheless, you decide you will (must) go to him...

[[...on two legs.]] [[...on four.]]

The night sky deepens to a perfect black as you drive north to Rittersburg, feeling at all times the faint tremor of the Curse as it writhes beneath your skin. It is nothing new. 

By the time you arrive within sight of the castle, you have reached a rough equilibrium--some balance between reason and animality.

[[Arrive.|Arrive (Man)]]

You let the Gift come upon you, and suddenly you are yourself--a black streak cutting across the black earth. The moon casts a glow over the rolling hills that meet the woods, and you scent out the newborn patches of flowers where they lie closed-- _Jungfer im Grünen_. All around the world is remade to you again, alive with the heartbeats of rabbits and mice as they huddle in the belly of the soil.

You do not tire as ordinary beasts do. You can keep to a wild sprint for hours, and within the joy of nature, the distance passes quickly. When you arrive within sight of the castle, you feel a breathless giddiness. 

It is not because you are winded.

[[Arrive.|Arrive (Wolf)]]

**Author's Note:**

> Image Credits (in game): ["Reconstruction of Canis dirus (dire wolf) (Pleistocene, North America) 2"](https://www.flickr.com/photos/jsjgeology/32194767411) by James St. John ([CC 2.0](https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/2.0/))
> 
> See my [profile](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CorpseBrigadier/profile) for notes on remixes, podfic, derivative works, and constructive criticism.


End file.
